


When We Were

by ObsoleteAdjectives



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry, Baker Harry, Books, Coffee, Dessert & Sweets, Fluff, I Tried, Light Angst, M/M, Mangos, My First Work in This Fandom, Potioneer Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsoleteAdjectives/pseuds/ObsoleteAdjectives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fight. But on Mondays Harry loves mangoes, on Tuesdays Draco wants cinnamon, Wednesdays bring a new book, Thursdays bring coffee, and on Fridays they share a dessert, so it’s okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Were

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've been mulling over this fic for a while, but I was recently invited to AO3 so I sort of made an effort to finish it off. Un-beta'd. IDK if it's any good.

_On Mondays, his kisses tasted of mangoes._

Not that Harry had ever particularly loved mangoes in his twenty years, but on Draco it was heavenly. He could suck and lick on that mouth for the rest of eternity and never be bored. They’d made love on a Monday – no, it was _fucking_ then – and Harry’d come undone, spurting hot semen on his stomach because Draco’d ravaged his mouth at _just the moment_ he’d thrust inside Harry to hit his sweet spot.

Draco smirked on Mondays a lot more than he did on the other days of the week because that was the day Harry Potter was putty in his hands. Harry would get turned on by just one little kiss on that particular day of the week, and gosh darn if it wasn’t Draco’s favourite game to play. One moan here, a twist of fumbling fingers there... Harry came fastest on Mondays and never even fought to be on top.

-

“What are you doing in my office?” Harry asked warily. He removed his spectacles and clenched the bridge of his nose. On his huge mahogany table lay piles and piles of files with reports on cases he’d yet to look into. The enchanted windows were no longer looking over a sunlit garden, Harry realised. Shadows loomed in the office, much to his surprise. A cursory glance at the clock mounted on the far wall notified him that he had missed dinner with Draco. _Again._

It at least explained the man’s presence in his office. Harry sighed, putting his spectacles back on. Draco hadn’t moved from his position; he was leaning against the door of the Head Auror’s office – _Harry’s office_ – and his posture was slight, as if the man of twenty-one had absolutely no care in the world. The tightened jaw and the glaring eyes gave away his true feelings, however.

“You’re late,” Draco said quietly. He took a small step into the office, a frown gracing his face as he made his way towards Harry. His movements were quick and jerky.

“I’m sorr-” Harry began to say. He knew the danger signs when he saw them – Draco’s shoulders were hunched and his eye ticked in a familiar manner. They were going to fight if Harry didn’t diffuse the situation swiftly.

“Save it.” Draco’s voice was clipped. His low volume seemed to be loud enough to hush all the noise in Harry’s office. Harry felt a churning in his stomach and his heart thudded faster – the adrenaline he’d come to associate with catching criminals was now coursing through his veins; he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

“Draco,” he tried to plead. Something about this fight was different. It wasn’t one that Harry could deal with instantly. _Something was very wrong._ Harry was suddenly very afraid that he was going to lose Draco. “Please, just give me another chance-”

Draco’s lips thinned and his face seemed to grow impossibly tighter. “Do you know what today is?”

Harry stared at him quizzically. If only he could just _think,_ but his head was full of inconsequential details about the never-ending number of Dark wizards he had to catch before something _bad_ happened-

“Harry,” Draco said impatiently, “do you know what today is?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No,” he whispered. Draco’s eyes which had previously been alight with the fire of his anger seemed to dim. Harry frowned. Why couldn’t he just remember? Draco took a step back – towards the door – and Harry found that his heart _hurt._ He tried again, “Draco, please, I’m sorry. Please just let me-”

“I thought so.” Draco shook his head. His hand emerged from his pocket. Something yellow peeked from between his fingers. Harry’s breath caught as he recognised it. Draco spoke no more, looking pensively at what was clenched in his fist. He lobbed it as Harry’s head; Harry caught it with his Auror-reflexes as he watched Draco turn away and stride purposefully and silently out of the room. The door didn’t even slam as it closed.

Suppressing the pained whimper that wanted to escape Harry’s mouth, he looked at what he’d caught. It was a mango – a stupid fruit to remind him that today was his two-year anniversary with Draco Malfoy, which fell on a Monday that year.

He didn’t even think twice before abandoning his desk to go find his lover.

-

_On Tuesdays, his fingers smelled of cinnamon._

Not that Draco had ever particularly loved cinnamon in his twenty-two years, but on Harry it was delicious. He could fuck himself on Harry’s fingers all day for the rest of eternity and not get tired. Harry’d left his job on a Tuesday and spent the entire day making a pie to surprise Draco with. He’d screwed Draco into the mattress to celebrate and had smelled of the flour and cinnamon he’d caked the entire kitchen in. Draco hadn’t been able to sit comfortably for a whole week afterwards and he’d loved every twinge. He’d loved the smell of cinnamon permeating from their house for the next two weeks even more. Two months later, Harry’d opened his own bakery in Diagon Alley and had fucked Draco on the newly-purchased, stainless steel countertop. The shop had smelled of cinnamon and had, subsequently, been named after it.

Harry smiled on Tuesdays a lot because promptly at six, after locking up his Potions apothecary, Draco met Harry in his shop. They fucked in the backroom amidst the special cinnamon that Harry imported for his signature pie. Draco gave Harry a spectacular blowjob to compliment his choice of spices, and came like a goddamned fifteen-year-old discovering sex for the first time when Harry got down on his knees to rim his hole.

-

“He was flirting with you!” Draco insisted as he twisted Harry’s apron in his fingers. Harry’d bought it, grinning like a madman the entire time, because it had some sort of Muggle joke on it. Draco didn’t see what was so hilarious about the phrase ‘Kiss the Cook’, especially when the person wearing it was _in a committed relationship._

“He’s married with two children, and wizards don’t understand the apron! Of course they’re going to ask about it!” Harry growled in the back of his throat. As much as he loved Draco, the possessive-boyfriend got on his very last nerve sometimes.

“Best friends, are you? How do you know so much about him?” Draco glared at Harry, focusing his sharp grey eyes on Harry, as if he would force the answer out of Harry by his sheer gaze alone.

“For fuck’s sake!” Harry yelled as he strode across the shop to change the sign from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’.

“And why wear the apron anyway if you’re going to be answering stupid questions about it all day?” Draco fished. “Are you looking for the attention? Don’t get enough of it now that you’re not out there catching bad guys all day?”

Draco knew he’d said the wrong thing when Harry stopped short, freezing in place. His face was like thunder as he slowly turned around to face Draco.

“I...” Draco trailed off in the face of Harry’s rage. The fight seemed to go out of him.

“Don’t,” Harry groused in a tightly controlled voice. A vein jumped in his forehead.

“Harry, I didn’t mean it,” Draco said softly. He extended a hand to touch Harry’s cheek but his lover flinched away. Draco felt his face crumple.

“Go home,” Harry said, his voice still abnormally quiet. “I’ll lock up.”

“Harry,” Draco said insistently. But Harry had already turned away towards the backroom where they’d yet to do today what tradition dictated.

Draco had no choice but to follow.

An hour later, after they lay sated and spent (and after Harry forgave Draco), Draco lunged for the apron – still in his state of nudity – and used his wand to charm the wording as he desired. Once he was done, he thrust the apron at Harry, blushing a little.

“Here,” Draco said, sounding a mixture of abashed and smug, “now we won’t have any more trouble.”

Harry took a look at the apron and shook his head amusedly.

The apron now said ‘Kiss the Cook – BUT ONLY IF YOUR NAME IS DRACO LUCIUS ABRAXAS MALFOY’.

-

_On Wednesdays they bought a new book._  
  
Harry liked the smell of Muggle bookstore but mostly he liked the ambiance – that is, the lack of screaming books on the Dark Arts, hardcovers zooming recklessly through the air, and the highly enthusiastic, wizard-version of pop-up books. He also liked bringing Teddy along, but Teddy was a magenta-haired teenager now – needless to say, the boy thought Harry was a bit too old to hang out with in public now. But Harry’d been purchasing a new book from the bookstore almost every week ever since he’d moved into the Muggle neighbourhood (despite his boyfriend’s lamentations, mind you) and he wasn’t about to let his godson’s age (or vehement protests) keep him from going about his routine. Even if he had to rope in someone else – namely, his boyfriend – to go about doing it.

The first time he’d brought Draco along, Teddy’d been very young – a toddler, really – and they’d just been fuck-buddies. Draco had been forced to spend time with his little cousin by his mother.

-

“How about this one?” Draco asked, tossing Harry a small book. His lips were curled into a tiny smirk.

Harry caught the book with the reflexes of the youngest Seeker in a century, rolling his eyes at Draco’s antics.

“Careful,” he muttered needlessly – he knew very well his nagging was a source of amusement for Draco. Then he looked down at the cover. His eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline. “’Faggots to Burn’? Are you trying to tell me something?”

When he looked up, Draco was a lot closer than he realised. Harry licked his bottom lip nervously. The blond leaned in, his voice soft and his breath coming in hot puffs against Harry’s lips. Harry fought the urge to take a step back – Draco was too perceptive to miss such a move.

“Hmm,” Draco whispered, his voice coming like a deep rumble from his chest. His stormy eyes bore into Harry’s before flicking down to his mouth. Harry licked his lips again. “What do you think?”

Harry’s eyes were slipping closed without conscious effort it seemed, as he leaned in closer to Draco. Just a few more inches and his mouth would close over Draco’s and maybe they’d abandon their fruitless attempt to look into Muggle literature. They might even Apparate straight to bed, their clothes coming off in mere seconds...

A loud _thump_ from behind them caused them to jump apart. A young girl, maybe in her early teens, was standing there and blushing a deep red.

“Sor-sorry,” she squeaked and ran away in the opposite direction, leaving behind half a dozen books strewn on the floor.

Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘sneaky little pest’ under his breath but Harry ignored him, instead bending down to retrieve the books that had tumbled down from their position.

“I don’t know why you don’t let the staff do it – it’s what they’re paid for, you know,” Draco said snidely at Harry’s crouched figure.

Harry straightened and shot a grin at Draco.

He teased, “Because then I wouldn’t discover hidden gems like this one over here.” Harry lobbed a book in Draco’s direction, which he caught neatly. “Sure does explain why you’re a single child.”

Draco read the cover and swore. It read ‘The Best Dad is a Good Lover’. His cheeks flushed an angry red and - Harry noticed with growing alarm - his hands shook violently. 

“Potter, you fucking bastard,” Draco said – his voice was tight and his face contorted in what seemed to be an effort to keep from screaming.

Harry’s mouth opened and closed without a sound as he racked his brain for an appropriate form of apology. He cursed himself mentally for not realising how badly Draco would take it. Before he could utter a word, Draco shot Harry a last glare, threw the book on the ground and Disapparated with barely a sound.

Later, Harry found out that Lucius’s Azkaban sentence had recently been increased by ten years. He slumped on his kitchen table, groaning. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t known. Draco hadn’t even told him... never even asked for a helping hand. Harry was the beloved Golden Boy at the Ministry – it would have been so easy to ask him for a favour. But, no, Draco chose to keep his silence only to have Harry throw it back in his face callously – though it was out of ignorance rather than spite.

It took Harry five weeks, four rejected dinner invitations, three shipments of flowers (which, Blaise gleefully told him, Draco burned), two Wizengamot meetings to reduce Lucius’s sentence by half, and one book titled ‘Beautiful Disaster’ with a note explaining how he didn’t expect Draco to forgive him but asked him to accept the book for the sheer truth of a line in it that went “I knew the second I met you that there was something about you I needed. Turns out it wasn’t something about you at all. It was just you.” to get Draco to accept his apology.

They’d been dating since.

-

_On Thursday, they had coffee in a new city._

The coffee was always hot – they made sure to Portkey to a location experiencing the middle of winter. It was the only time when they weren’t having sex that Draco let Harry press his entire body against his – because of the cold, Draco said indignantly, but Harry always managed to see the twinkle hiding in his eyes. Draco had the most expressive eyes. They shined a guiltless steel, all fierce anger and revenge, when Harry confronted him about skipping out on lunch with him, Ron and Hermione.

-  
“It’s not like they hate you! It’s water under the bridge for them!” Harry protested. “Why can’t you show up for once?”

“Did I ever say I was okay with having lunch with them once a week? They’re your best friends, not mine!” Draco yelled, pacing in his apothecary. His hands fiddled nervously with strange-looking ingredients that Harry could not recognise, but his eyes screamed defiance.

“I would hang out with your best friends if you asked me, Draco,” Harry said as calmly as he could. His throat hurt with the effort of keeping the hurt and anger at bay.

The customers trickling in didn’t seem to notice his presence anymore – Harry and Draco’s affair had adorned the Prophet’s pages for long enough that it was no longer a big deal. Draco’d had tears in his eyes when he’d opened the Prophet that fateful day to notice that the front page, for the first time in weeks, had actual news on it and not a picture of the two of them with a derogatory slogan to commemorate it. They’d gone to lunch with Ron and Hermione to celebrate.

Draco whirled around, accidentally dropping a vial he’d been holding. It shattered noisily but Draco didn’t seem to notice as he hissed, _“My best friends are dead, Potter, if you’d notice.”_

Harry paled. His heart thudded so quickly and strongly, he was sure Draco could hear it. He aimed a _Repairo_ at the broken glass, _Scourgified_ the mess with another flick before softly saying, “I’m not the one who killed them, Draco, if you’d notice.”

Draco did not seem to hear. He’d already turned around. Harry wanted to curl around Draco, take him into his arms and banish the pain of their childhood. He wanted to wipe away every bad memory Draco’d been forced to endure during lonely, sleepless nights. But Draco’s shoulders were set with his back straight and his hair is pushed back immaculately. It was Thursday and Harry couldn’t touch Draco as he wanted to.

He had no option but to walk out of the apothecary and make sure not to accidentally shut the door too loudly.

It was cold in England. They’d never tried the coffee in England for some reason. They’d only ever gone abroad. Harry pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to shield himself against the elements. He pretended it was the sharp wind irritating his eyes – he wasn’t crying. Of course he wasn’t.

He was trying so hard not to run into anyone as he made his way to the Apparation point that he didn’t hear his name being called – yelled, more like. But he definitely noticed when a hand gripped his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Suddenly, he found himself being clutched tightly by the stranger but the smell of expensive cologne put Harry at momentary ease.

“Draco,” he said, tensing slightly. Draco was shaking, probably due to the cold Harry surmised as he wasn’t wearing a cloak. He hugged Draco back tightly, rubbing his back, trying to warm him. He couldn’t think of what to say, what to think.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered in Harry’s ear. Harry felt something warm and wet land on his cheek. Just the thought of Draco crying and shuddering in his arms made Harry’s heart melt with love. He felt his despondency leave his body and he brought Draco as close as he could, marvelling yet again at how perfectly they seemed to fit together. “It’s just... you three remind of all that I don’t have – all that I will _never have_. I will never have my best friends back and _it hurts_ , Harry. I don’t want to remember anymore. I don’t want to hurt anymore. I’m sorry. No more excuses. I’ll be frank – I can’t come to lunch with you three. I can’t. I’m sorry, but it just hurts too much. So please don’t ask me to do it anymore.”

Harry kissed the top of Draco’s head before bending slightly to bring them eye to eye. “I won’t. Draco, I love you. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve known how you’d feel.”

Draco fervently shook his head, smiling a little through his tears. “Idiot, how could you have known if I never told you?”

“I love you,” Harry said simply, as if it explained everything. _It probably did,_ Draco mused. “Now let’s get you nice and warm. I think there’s a coffee place not far from here. Wait, wear my cloak – you must be freezing.”

Harry continued to mumble about the lack of Heating charms on Draco’s part and, quite ironically, his general lack of self-preservation. Draco would have been annoyed in any other circumstance, but he’d seen Harry’s eyes – they’d shone suspiciously bright, as if filled with unshed tears – so he merely kissed his boyfriend on the cheek and let him fuss.

They held hands as they made their way to their next cup of coffee.

-

_On Fridays, they shared a dessert._

They had never fought on a Friday. Both of them got up early in the morning and gave each other a kiss goodbye before leaving for work, even if they’d fought the night before. After Apparating home promptly by six-thirty in the evening, they’d take their time kissing each other – learning parts of the other’s body again and again till they’d have them memorized.

Some nights they’d go out and dance until they couldn’t think. But neither would dance with anyone else. They’d rub and grind and move together until they’d both be panting for breath, drunk off their arses. The heat would get to be too much – neither was built for hard-core partying - and they’d make their way home, struggling to get the other out of his clothes once they stumbled into their flat.

In the refrigerator (one of the few Muggle devices they owned) they’d find what they’d been looking forward to all morning.

Every week, in the corner of the refrigerator, hidden away from those who didn’t know what to look for, would be a different dessert.

But the best part would be when they’d eat it off the other’s body.  

-

_Saturdays and Sundays were free of routine._

They did whatever they wanted to.

Harry proposed on a Saturday night.

Draco hit Harry because he’d been planning on proposing the next week. He brought out the ring he’d bought for Harry, they laughed at the situation, exchanged rings, and made slow, sweet love throughout the night.  

They got married on a beautiful Sunday morning.

 

_~Fin_


End file.
